Page 60 of Ridin’ Dirty

Are we having our first cordial conversation?

Hesitating for a second, I debated over how much I wanted to share. Our history wasn’t my favorite topic. Neither was it ever particularly easy to talk about.

“Okay—uhm, growing up, he was my best friend. I was his, too. We’re three years apart, but that never mattered. In so many ways, we were all each other had after our parents died. That kind of trauma transcends all the bullshit.”

“Except it didn’t. Y’all had a fallin’ out.”

I smiled in spite of how much the truth stung, impressed he managed to state it so plainly.

“Funny thing is? We barely talk to each other anymore—but he’s always there, keeping tabs on me. Sometimes I like to think it’s because he still loves me. Most of the time, it feels more like he wants to be an overbearing ass controlling what I can and cannot do. I’ve never been able to figure out how the end of us could have anything to do with him becoming a King. But as soon as he got his final patch, that was it.”

Pistol didn’t respond right away but continued staring at me, like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, he asked, “What happened to your parents?”

“Car accident. Lost them both at once. I was eight.”

“Fuck,” he muttered with a deep scowl.

The pull of his brow irritated the cut above his eye, and I saw it as it began to well up again.

“You’re bleeding. One sec—I’ll be right back.”

Before he could stop me, I set aside the ice and hurried for the bathroom. I found my box of Band-Aids, then pulled out the appropriate size. Grabbing the antiseptic ointment for good measure, I was quick to return to the table.

I don’t know if I was more relieved or surprised when he didn’t put up a fuss about the bandage. He even let me rub a bit of ointment on his nose and lip. Neither of us spoke as I worked, and I found I missed our conversation.

As I tightened the tea towel around the remaining ice before pressing it against his face, I tried my hand at kickstarting it again.

“What about your parents? They still around?”

“Never knew the old man,” he was quick to tell me. “Lost mom more than a decade ago. Cancer.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” he murmured.

We fell into another silence, and neither of us were quick to dig ourselves out of it.

Then, out of nowhere, he pointed his chin behind me and asked, “What’s that?”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw his plate of food I left to rot hours ago.

“It was your dinner.”

“Still could be.”

It wasn’t until he said it that I thought about how long it must have been since his last meal. Of course he was hungry.

“You don’t want that,” I told him as I pulled a face. “It’s been sitting there for a while.”

“It’s been a while since I ate. It’ll do.”

“Viv got us a few things. Let me make you something else. Bacon grilled cheese, maybe?”

He lifted his brow in interest. “Say less. I’ll take two.”

That got him another smile.

“Only if you promise to keep this ice on your face.”